


Red Sunshine

by GoldenClover



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 10:19:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8140484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenClover/pseuds/GoldenClover
Summary: A small part of Snafu, he thinks as he slouches against the molding bricks of his apartment and plows through pack after pack of cigarettes, will always be waiting for Sledge to come walking through his door with a book in his hands and a grin wider than the southern sky.





	

A small part of Snafu, he thinks as he slouches against the molding bricks of his apartment and plows through pack after pack of cigarettes, will always be waiting for Sledge to come walking through his door with a book in his hands and a grin wider than the southern sky.

But the other part of Snafu, the part that grew up mean, grew up fast, knows Sledge is in Alabama and Snafu is in Louisiana and that’s the way it’s always going to be.   


Call it street smarts, call it common sense. Snafu just knows.

So he stands out under the clouds and lets the bricks dig into the sharp bones of his back, and Snafu can almost hear Sledgehammer saying,  _ “Well, if you had a little body fat, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much.” _

“Well fuck you, Sledgehamma,” Snafu says aloud, “Y’wanna tell me what to do, y’gotta come down here and say it to my damn face.”

Sledge doesn’t reply.

Of course he doesn’t.

Snafu’s starting to feel a little stupid, a little crazy, and only guys who are going asiatic stand out in the street and talk to people who aren’t there. He shoves a cigarette in his mouth and hunches his shoulders, makes sure no one was around to hear him.   


No one ever is.

The smoke of his cigarette touches the sky Snafu never could, and he feels a tinge of jealousy as he watches it drift towards Alabama. Maybe the smoke’ll get lucky, maybe it’ll float through a window and sit there in Sledge’s house and just look at the redness of Sledgehammer’s hair in the sun.

Sure, it’s cloudy in Louisiana, but that’s only because Sledge isn’t here. If Sledge was here, the sun would be shining like Jap gold. 

Then he blinks and the smoke is gone. 

Maybe it’s in Alabama, or maybe it just got too tired and crawled through the grimy little window into Snafu’s apartment, maybe it’s just crouching in there now dreaming of the redness of Sledgehammer’s hair in the sun. 

Snafu stubs out his cigarette against the palm of his hand, and the odd little part of him that still believes in Sledge’s too-white skin in the early morning light is telling him it’s what he deserves.   


He left Sledgehammer on the train, Snafu deserves to gets his fucking palm burnt.

“See ya around, Sledgehamma.” Snafu says the goodbye he never said to thin air. Soon he’ll go sit up in his one-room apartment, breathing the acrid air and living on black coffee that cost less than the cigarettes in his pockets, and the ghost of Sledge will sit across from him and smile like the sun Snafu wishes he could see.

It won’t be the first time Sledge has haunted Snafu’s walls.


End file.
